


Permanently Blue (For You)

by Duck_Life



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Michael Has a Squip, Angst, Blood, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining, Supernatural Illnesses, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Michael gets more than he bargained for when he seeks out a cure for the flowers he keeps coughing up.





	1. Michael In The Bathroom

**Author's Note:**

> Hanahaki disease: Caused by unrequited love. Those afflicted grow flowers in their lungs, causing them to cough excessively to expel the petals. The only known cure is having that love returned by the object of admiration (or surgery but that doesn't really come up in this fic). 
> 
> Alls I know is Hanahaki's a popular trope for my boy Mikey and I decided to challenge myself to write a fic about that even though I don't really GET Hanahaki. But we'll see where this goes. Comments always appreciated!

Michael was so good at hiding it. 

It started around the same time as puberty and never went away, so he kind of had to learn to be excellent at deception and concealment. He never went anywhere without a plastic baggie to collect the flowers until he could throw them away. He lied about having asthma so Jeremy wouldn’t question all the hacking and coughing. 

Michael thought he could live with it. 

Pining, watching Jeremy go on and on about Christine, choking on the petals clogging his lungs and throat. He didn’t need to change anything; he could live like this, he thought.

Then one day Jeremy mysteriously ditches him at the mall, and it’s like overnight he’s got new friends and new hobbies and without seeming that reluctant, he leaves Michael behind. 

Jeremy doesn’t even seem to see him anymore. Michael feels like a ghost, might have convinced himself he was one, too, if it weren’t for the stabbing pain in his chest, the relentless sickly-sweet taste of flowers clawing up his throat.

* * *

 

Michael goes to Jake’s party for Jeremy, but when he sees him on the couch having a blast with Christine, he feels the anxiety-- and the flowers-- blooming in his chest and he runs for the bathroom. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, staring down at the red carnation petals floating in the toilet water. They’re mixed with blood. “Shit, shit, this is bad…” 

“Michael?” 

He recognizes the voice through the door: Jeremy. 

“Uh, don’t come in,” he says evasively, panicking as more carnations clump in his chest and throat. “I’m not, I can’t…”

But Jeremy opens the door and walks in anyway, looking concerned. “Michael, what’s going on? You throwing up in here?”

Michael takes stock of his position: kneeling in front of the toilet, red-faced. “Nnnnyes,” he says. “Super sick. No more Peach Schnapps for me.” 

But Jeremy peers over the rim of the toilet bowl, sees the petals and the blood. Michael cringes, sinking against the wall of the bathroom. “Michael…”

“Nothing,” he says, feeling his stomach churning. Jeremy can’t know, he wouldn’t understand and he  _ can’t know _ . “It’s nothing, Jere, don’t… nothing, I just, uh, I had a salad and it didn’t agree with me. It’s really nothing, it’s--”

“Hanahaki disease.” 

Michael looks up at him, shocked. “How did you know…?”

“My Squip’s datab-- ahh, internet,” Jeremy stammers, and then he walks across the bathroom and carefully lowers himself to the floor, sitting beside Michael. It could be like old times, before Jeremy started ignoring him, except they’re in a bathroom at a party and there are flowers climbing up Michael’s throat. “I read about it from the internet, and…” He stares at Michael, taking him in. “Are you okay?”

Michael’s not sure. His chest hurts and he’s kind of sad, but both of those things are perfectly normal for him. At least Jeremy’s talking to him and not looking right through him. “I’m fine,” he says. 

The two of them sit, backs against the wall, Jeremy’s lanky legs stretched out in front of him. Michael’s balled up beside him, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “How long has this been… I mean, has it been…?” Jeremy can’t even seem to finish his sentences. He looks distraught, but not disgusted like Michael thought he would be. 

“Like four, four-and-a-half years,” he says in a low voice.

Jeremy’s face crumples up. “I’m so sorry,” he says, but there’s no way he knows  _ why _ it’s happening. All he knows is Michael’s in love with  _ someone _ , all he knows is Michael’s been dealing with the clogged clumped-up lungs and coughing up carnations for four, four-and-half years because he’s in love with  _ someone _ . “Is there anything I can…” But he trails off, staring into space. 

He tilts his head like he’s listening, and now it’s Michael’s turn to be worried. “Jeremy?”

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly coming back down to earth. “Yeah, it’s… Michael, do you want help?” 

“Um.” He’s not sure what Jeremy means. Help managing it? Help hiding it? 

“I can help,” Jeremy says, earnest and wide-eyed. “I can fix it, Michael. I can make it stop.” 

As far as Michael knows, there’s only one way to cure Hanahaki, and that’s if the person you’re in love with loves you back. And… no. There’s no way. He stares at Jeremy, perfectly imperfect and kind and cute and wonderful. There’s just no way. Unless. “Jeremy…”

“I can help you,” Jeremy says again, angling his body toward Michael. He leans forward, pressed close to him, and it’s like when they used to read comic books under a blanket with a flashlight as children but it’s warmer, electric, being so close.

Michael chokes down the flowers in his throat. “You can?” he says. 

Jeremy cocks his head to the side again, like he’s listening to someone who’s not there. And then he gets even closer to Michael. “Yes,” he says. 

_ Yes _ . It’s maybe the most beautiful word Michael’s ever heard. Because… because it makes no sense and yet it’s happening, apparently. Jeremy can cure him. Jeremy can make it stop, the blood, the carnations, the heartache. Because somehow, miraculously, Jeremy must feel the same way.

“I know what the cure is,” Jeremy says, leaning impossibly closer. They’re breathing in the same air, and Jeremy smells like Mountain Dew and some weird new cologne and Michael knows he smells like weed and carnations and copper but it’s still magical; they draw ever closer like magnets. And then Jeremy says again, “I know what the cure is, Michael.” And he whispers, “It’s from Japan.” 

Wait, what? “It’s a gray, oblong pill,” Jeremy continues. “I… read about it on the internet. And it can fix Hanahaki, make the flowers stop.” 

The emotional whiplash makes Michael’s head and heart hurt. But if there’s a way for him to stop the flowers, in any way… “I didn’t think there was a pill for it,” he says honestly. “And it… works?”

“It works,” Jeremy confirms. “I can get one for you. If you want?”

When Michael first started coughing up flower petals, he thought he was losing his mind. But it’s real, painfully, disgustingly real. He’s got the lesions in his throat to prove it. He always thought he’d just have to endure it until he died, and that he’d probably die too young. And now suddenly he can see another life stretched out in front of him, all thanks to modern medicine. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, Jeremy, I… please.” 

“Of course,” Jeremy says. “I’ll come over tomorrow after school and give you the pill.” He curls his legs up toward his body, and for a second Michael thinks Jeremy’s about to lean into him, maybe hug him. But he stands up instead. “I’ve… gotta get back to Christine. See you tomorrow, Michael.”


	2. The Squip Enters

The next day, Michael answers the front door when he hears the knock, trying not to look eager. There’s Jeremy, standing too straight, wearing his new Eminem shirt. “Hey,” he says, mechanically handing Michael a plastic baggie with a single pill inside of it. “Here.” 

“Huh,” Michael says, looking at the pill in the bag. All the times he fantasized about finding a cure, a treatment… well, Jeremy was always involved, but not quite like this. He never imagined it would be as simple as taking a pill. “You sure it’s safe?”

“Absolutely,” Jeremy says. 

“Okay.” Michael offers him a warm smile. “Wanna come in? We could play Apocalypse of the Damned or…” He trails off, watching Jeremy’s impatient expression. Like he’s got somewhere else to be, somewhere better. 

“I have to go,” Jeremy says, at least looking apologetic. He starts to walk away, but then he turns back. “Oh… make sure you take it with Mountain Dew.” 

That’s… weird, but Michael supposes it’s not weirder than coughing up literal flowers because you’re in love with your best friend. Weird disease, weird cure. That makes sense. Michael watches Jeremy walk away, and then he shuts the door and looks down at the bag in his hand. 

He thinks he’s got a bottle of Mountain Dew in the fridge.

* * *

 

Standing in his basement, Michael takes stock of himself. A little tired, but not hungover. It’s a good day, relatively, flower-wise. He can breathe mostly normally, even if he does taste a little bit of blood at the back of his throat. 

Well. Here goes nothing. 

Michael swallows the pill with a gulp of Mountain Dew… and almost immediately feels the petals crawling up his throat. 

He barely makes it to the bathroom on time before he’s coughing carnations up into the sink, chills running up and down his back. The sink fills up with red flowers and rivulets of blood, but the soda and the pill miraculously stay down. Lucky Michael. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and then suddenly his head cracks in half.

Well, that’s what it feels like. Lightning crackles across his scalp and his skull feels like it’s vibrating.  _ Calibration in process. Please excuse some mild discomfort.  _

“Mild?” Michael squawks at the random voice in his head, lost in a sea of pain and confusion. Just as he’s about to shout, he feels a shock travel agonizingly up and down his spine. 

_ Calibration complete. Access procedure initiated.  _

Just as suddenly as the pain started, it stops. Michael inhales shakily and rolls his shoulders. His chest still feels tight, and he can feel phantom tremors tingling between his shoulder blades, but at least the voice is gone. Maybe it was a hallucination? He goes to clear out the sink when the voice pipes up again. 

_ Discomfort level may increase. _

And holy shit, it  _ hurts _ . He screams and there’s no one in the house to hear him. There’s a roaring, rushing, scraping in his ears and his head fills with painful static. 

_ Accessing neural memory. Accessing muscle memory. Access procedure complete.  _

Michael hangs onto the sink basin for support, panting. It feels like the worst of the pain is finally over, but he thought that before. Slowly, apprehensively, he raises his head to look at himself in the mirror. And…  _ holy fuck there’s someone behind him. _

And that someone looks an awful lot like Buddy Holly. 

_ Michael Mell _ , Buddy Holly says.  _ Welcome to your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor… your SQUIP.  _

“Uh…” Michael says intelligently. “Did… did I  _ die _ ? Are you God?” 

The Squip laughs.  _ I am your Squip. I’m here to help you be more chill.  _

“Uh-huh,” Michael says, as if the Buddy Holly lookalike is making any sense at all. “And how exactly did you get here?”

The Squip gives him a confused look.  _ You swallowed me. _

“What the fuck?”

_ The pill you took was a squip. I am your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor, your Squip. I feel like I’ve covered this. _

“No, no,” Michael says, shaking his head. “The pill I took was the cure for Hanahaki.”

The Squip pauses, glitching a little like it’s… buffering.  _ Ah _ , it says finally.  _ I understand. You want me to stop the production of flowers in your chest.  _

“I guess?” Michael says. “But… what are you?  _ Why _ are you here?”

_ A Squip implants itself in the brain of its host and uses its vast database to direct the host how to be cool, popular and successful _ , it says.  _ Your friend Jeremy should have explained all this. He has a Squip, too. _

That explains it… sort of. How Jeremy got invited to that party, why he’s been hanging out with the popular crowd… why he ditched Michael. “So the pill… wasn’t just a pill?” 

_ I’m a supercomputer _ , the Squip says.  _ And I’m here to help you. First of all, clean up that sink. _

Michael does, trying not to panic about whatever the hell he’s gotten himself into. Or more accurately, whatever  _ Jeremy _ got him into. And why didn’t Jeremy tell him about the Squip when  _ he _ got one? Was he always planning to abandon him once he got a chance at popularity? Michael shakes his head and tosses the damp flower petals into the wastebasket before clearing the blood out of the sink with a Clorox wipe. 

“You know you look just like Buddy Holly,” Michael points out, restraining himself from adding “woo-ee-ooh” as he and the Squip walk back into the basement. 

_ I am programmed to take the form of someone appealing and trustworthy to my host _ , the Squip says.  _ I can also appear as Zachary Quinto Spock, Leonard Nimoy Spock and Bob Ross. _

“Buddy’s fine.”

_ Michael, I’m going to help cure your Hanahaki disease. _

“So…” Michael says. “You’re… gonna make Jeremy fall in love with me?”

The Squip laughs harshly.  _ I’m a supercomputer, Michael, not a miracle worker. No, I’m going to help you get over Jeremy Heere.  _

“Oh.” Michael considers that. He’s tried before, tried listing to himself all the things he doesn’t like about Jeremy (“has unironically said YOLO,” that’s literally the whole list) and tried telling himself over and over that loving Jeremy only hurts himself. No one’s ever offered to help him like this before. “How?”

_ You need to realize how pathetic and terrible Jeremy really is _ , the Squip says.  _ You look at him and you see the sun. He looks at you and sees dirt.  _ The Squip laughs.  _ Dirt with little flower buds sticking through. You want to cure the Hanahaki? You need to realize this.  _

“Jeremy doesn’t… think I’m like dirt,” Michael says, sounding unsure. To be honest, he’s still trying to get a grasp on the whole “there’s a supercomputer in my head” thing. 

_ Why else would he lie to you about the contents of the pill he gave you? _ the Squip says.  _ Repeat after me, Michael. Everything about Jeremy is so terrible. _

“What? That’s not true.”

The Squip runs an electric shock through him, and Michael yelps.  _ Say it.  _

Michael chokes down a flower petal. “Every… everything about Jeremy is just terrible.”

_ Good. Everything about him makes me wanna die.  _

Michael doesn’t want to get shocked again. “Everything about him makes me wanna die.” 

_ Now you’re getting it.  _


	3. It's Called Optic Nerve Blocking

At school on Monday, Michael overhears Jenna Rolan gossiping about Rich setting fire to Jake Dillinger’s house the night of the Halloween party. She says Jake broke both legs trying to escape the flames. 

“Holy shit,” he mumbles to his Squip. “I was at that party.”

_ I know _ , the Squip says tiredly.  _ I’m inside your head, Michael.  _

“Do you know what happened to Rich?”

_ Teenagers are just so impulsive _ , the Squip says evasively, guiding him down the hall.  _ If you want to get over Jeremy, you need to find a new target male. _

“Target male?” Michael says. 

_ Yes _ , the Squip says, sounding irritated.  _ Someone you can have feelings for who will ACTUALLY feel the same way. Someone you have a chance in hell with. How about that guy? _

Michael looks up to see the Squip is pointing to… Dustin Kropp. “Uh, I appreciate the confidence you have in me, but Dustin’s way out of my league.” 

_ You’re underselling yourself _ , the Squip says.  _ You have a classic geek chic thing going, Michael. Go up and talk to him.  _

“What do I even say?”

_ Just listen to me. _

Against his better instincts, Michael strolls toward Dustin’s locker. “Hey, Dustin,” he says, trying to sound convincingly casual. 

“Uh… Michael, right?” Dustin asks, grabbing a math book out of his locker. “What’s up?”

_ Repeat after me _ , the Squip says.  _ Did you do something with your hair? It looks great. _

“Did you do something with your hair?” Michael says, the words feeling clunky in his mouth. “It looks great.”

Dustin smiles, one hand flying to his bangs. “Yeah, I got it cut on Sunday,” he says. “You like it?”

_ I love it. _

“I love it,” Michael says, not really sure what he’s accomplishing. 

Dustin blushes, though, so he must be doing something right. “Thanks, Michael,” he says, and then the bell rings. “Talk to you later.” Dustin walks away, leaving Michael alone with the Squip. 

“Has hitting on guys always been that easy?” Michael asks, a little in awe. 

_ Yes _ , the Squip says.  _ You’ve just been so hung up on Jeremy you didn’t notice. _

“I guess,” Michael says, feeling a pang in his chest. “Where is Jeremy, anyway? I want to talk to him.” Michael had searched the halls that morning, but seen no trace of his best friend. 

_ Never mind _ , the Squip says.  _ You need to forget about Jeremy. _

“But--”

_ Go to class, Michael. _

* * *

Throughout the whole day, Michael doesn’t see Jeremy at all, even in the one class they share. The Squip coaches him through an English writing prompt and helps him make up his mind about which sushi roll to get for lunch, so at least it’s helpful. 

“So what’s Jeremy’s Squip helping him with?” Michael asks around a mouthful of rice and seaweed. 

Across the table, the Squip makes disgusted look.  _ Michael, please don’t speak with your mouth open _ , it says.  _ And Jeremy’s Squip is helping him to perform well in the play and connect with his classmates.  _

“Are you gonna do that with me?” 

_ Let’s just focus on getting you to stop spewing plant matter like a human mulcher _ , the Squip says, bespectacled eyes narrowing in on a limp piece of seaweed dangling from Michael’s mouth.  _ Dustin Kropp is going to ask you to go to the mall with him this afternoon. _

“What, why?” 

_ Because he’s into you, you idiot _ , the Squip says.  _ You’re going to accept. You’re going to have a great time. You’re not going to think about Jeremy.  _

Michael swallows his bite of sushi, feeling a flower petal stuck in the back of his throat. “Easier said than done.”

_ If you’d like, I can electrocute you every time you think about Jeremy.  _ The Squip actually sounds like it’s trying to be helpful.

“God, no,” Michael says. “The flowers are bad enough. I don’t need  _ that _ too.”

_ Very well _ , the Squip says.  _ But I might not offer you a choice next time. Stop thinking about him, Michael.  _

“I will,” Michael lies. 

_ Michael. _

“I will.” 

* * *

As the final bell rings, Michael can’t help it. He wanders near Jeremy’s locker, desperate for a glimpse of him. Suddenly, his Squip materializes beside him and he feels a prickling electric shock travel up and down his spine. 

“Ow!”

_ What did I say about talking to Jeremy?  _

“I wasn’t going to talk to him,” Michael insists. “I just want to see him. I need to know if he’s okay or if somehow got caught up in that fire that Rich started.”

_ He is fine.  _

“Then why can’t I see him?”

The Squip lets out a long-suffering sigh.  _ Because I’ve been blocking him from your field of vision, Michael _ , he says.  _ It’s called optic nerve blocking. If you can’t see Jeremy, it makes it that much easier for you to get over him.  _

Michael gapes. “So he’s been, like, invisible all day?”

_ Only to you, yes.  _

“That’s like fifteen levels of messed up,” Michael complains. “Even if I somehow manage to stop being in love with him, I still want to be friends with him!”

_ That can never happen _ , the Squip says sternly.  _ Trust me. Optic nerve blocking is the fastest way to reach your goals.  _

“But that’s not fair,” Michael says. “He probably thinks I’m mad at him or something. It’s not cool to just ignore people by… by literally blocking them out of your vision.”

The Squip stares at him for a long moment.  _ He did it to you, first. _

“What?”

_ Jeremy. He chose to block you from his vision weeks ago, _ the Squip says.  _ Haven’t you wondered why he’s walked right past you so many times in school? _

Michael shakes his head, vision blurring. Jeremy shut him out? By choice? Literally made him invisible? He knew Jeremy had been a little distant, but this… As the Squip babbles on about goals and achievements, Michael sprints for the bathroom but doesn’t make it.

Instead he winds up keeled over the rim of a trashcan, coughing up a whole entire carnation. 


	4. Rich Set A Fire

Jeremy blocked him out. Jeremy  _ chose _ to erase him from his life. 86’ed him. Goddamn Chuck Cunninghammed him. 

_ Dustin’s coming _ , the Squip warns him a minute later, and Michael straightens up and wipes his mouth. 

“Hey, man,” Dustin says, waving. “I was gonna head to the mall. You want to come with?”

“Absolutely,” Michael says, not needing the Squip’s coaxing. He needs to get the hell out of this damn building.

* * *

 

At the mall, Dustin walks with him through three different identical clothing stores, comparing identical designer jeans and buying sunglasses from identical salespeople. “Hey,” Michael asks when they’re sitting on a bench sipping Orange Juliuses, “you know anything about Rich and that fire?” 

Dustin’s eyes widen. “Man, he went nuts,” he says. “And he wasn’t even drinking. He just started begging everyone for Mountain Dew Red.”

“Relatable,” Michael says. “That shit’s good. Not as good as Crystal Pepsi or Orbitz, but good.” 

“Where do you even get all those old sodas?” Dustin asks. “I’ve seen you at school with Surge.” 

“Backroom at Spencer’s Gifts,” Michael says, pointing to the store across the food court. “I’ve got a guy. He hooks me up with tons of nostalgic soft drinks.” 

Dustin actually looks… intrigued. By something Michael’s saying. No one ever wants to listen to him like this, well except… Michael avoids even  _ thinking _ his name, worried the Squip might show up and shock him. “Anyway, after he asked literally everyone at the party for Mountain Dew Red, Rich kinda… disappeared? Like into the kitchen. Next thing I knew, the stove was on fire… and then  _ everything _ was on fire.”

“Jesus,” Michael mumbles. 

“He’s in the hospital now,” Dustin says. “Must be rough.” He slurps his Orange Julius. “Think they’ve got some of that Hi-C Ghostbusters ectoplasm stuff?” 

Michael smiles. “Let’s go check.”

* * *

 

The guy at Spencer’s also looks surprised to see Michael there with a date (is it a date? He’s not sure). “Your finest case of ectoplasm, good sir,” Michael says with a goofy grin. Dustin seems to appreciate his humor, which is good. For the first time in a long time, Michael’s breathing easy. 

“Here you go,” the Spencer’s guy says, setting a six-pack of Hi-C juice boxes on the counter. “Can I get you anything else?”

Michael hesitates, but then… “Yeah,” he says. “Mountain Dew Red.” When the guy goes to the back to get it, Dustin shoots Michael a questioning look. “I might visit Rich in the hospital one of these days,” Michael says. “It’ll be a nice surprise for him.”

Dustin raises an eyebrow. “I thought he was a jerk to you.”

“I mean,” Michael sighs. “He is, I guess. But I’m trying to let go of the past right now, and I just… feel bad, thinking about him all alone in the hospital.” 

“Huh,” is all Dustin says. Michael thinks about the fact that everyone at school is talking about Rich. 

But is anyone talking  _ to _ Rich?

* * *

 

At school the next day, the Squip instructs Michael to walk with some swagger, to send a flirty text to Dustin, to delete all of his playlists about/for Jeremy (“player one + player two,” “swag boyz mix,” “pt cruisin with the fave,” “jere bear songs”). 

When he sees Jenna Rolan walking away from Rich’s locker looking… different, Michael feels a nervous jerk in his gut. “Hey,” he says to his Squip. “What’s with Jenna?”

_ She’s perfectly fine _ , the Squip says evasively.  _ I believe she just had a conversation with Jeremy.  _

“And what did he say to her that made her look so… happy?” Michael says, although happy isn’t quite the right word. She looks too blissed out, euphoric. She looks… wrong. 

_ It’s not important, Michael _ , his Squip says impatiently.  _ How many times do I have to say this? Stop thinking about Jeremy.  _

“Well, technically I’m thinking about Jenna--” But he’s cut off as the Squip shocks him. “Ow!”

_ You need to be better at obeying me, Michael. You want to die from a bouquet lodged in your throat? _

“Whatever,” Michael says, glancing down at the bottle of Mountain Dew Red in his bag and up at the GET WELL SOON sign on Rich’s locker. “I’m gonna go see Rich at the hospital.” 

The Squip doesn’t look psyched about that idea, but it doesn’t try to stop him.

* * *

 

Rich looks… pitiful. He’s asleep when Michael rolls up, wrapped in bandages from head-to-toe. He at least has a “get well” bear tucked under one arm, so. That’s nice. Michael goes to sit on the cot opposite him, but the subtle movement wakes Rich up. 

“Jake?” 

“No, it’s uh, Michael,” he says, perching on the edge of the cot. “From school?” 

Rich stares at him, looking confused. “Headphones kid?”

“That’s me,” Michael grins, pointing to the headphones slung around his neck. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Like shit,” Rich says, and it’s all he can do to swivel his head around the room. “I messed everything up.” 

“Yeah, it… sounded like it was a real nasty fire.” 

“No, I meant even before that… It doesn’t matter,” Rich says, and then he winces. “What are you doing here?” 

“I, uh, brought this,” Michael says, showing him the bottle of Mountain Dew Red. “Heard you were asking for some, so I figured… well, here.” Michael thrusts the bottle into Rich’s hand. 

Rich looks at it like it’s made of gold. “ _ Thank you _ ,” he says. “You don’t know how much I…” But whatever he’s saying gets drowned out by Michael’s Squip.

_ There you go, you gave your little friend your little present _ , it says, sounding annoyed.  _ Why don’t you get out of here now and leave him alone? _

“Just a second,” he says to the Squip. To Rich he says, “Sorry, what did you say?”

But Rich is staring at him with a look of horror washing over his face. “You… you’ve got one.”

“What?” 

“No, no, I never wanted any of this to happen,” Rich says, shaking his head frantically even though it must hurt. His hand shakes wildly as he struggles to uncap the Mountain Dew Red. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” He winces again, like… like he’s been shocked. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” 

Sloppily, he gulps at the Mountain Dew Red, drops running down his chin. It reminds Michael too much of the blood that he sometimes coughs up; he has to look away. 

And then suddenly Rich screams, horrible and ear-piercing, and then slumps unconscious against the bed. “Rich!” Michael yells, but nurses are already pouring into the room. 

“It’s okay,” one of the nurses tells Michael while the other hovers over Rich. “Looks like he just passed out from exhaustion.” 

“But he  _ screamed _ .”

“Teenagers can be so impulsive,” she shrugs, turning to help with Rich. Left alone, Michael grabs his backpack and the rest of the Mountain Dew Red and he leaves. 


	5. When You Love Somebody

At home on the day of the play (the play Michael has no intention of seeing), Michael plays World of Warcraft and sulks in his beanbag chair, occasionally coughing up flower petals into the wastebin beside him. 

_ You could be doing something productive _ , the Squip points out. 

“You don’t want me to think about You-Know-Who,” Michael says. “So I’m distracting myself.” He maneuvers his character across the screen, idly voice-chatting with a few other players. “Yeah, it’s just my Squip. Uh, I mean, uh…” He listens. The guy he’s playing with pipes up. 

“You’ve got a Squip, man?” he says, voice loud in Michael’s headphones. “That’s fucked up. My brother got one of those, went from a straight-D student to a Harvard freshman.”

“Holy shit,” Michael says, staring at his Squip and wondering if he’s not taking advantage of its capabilities. “That’s awesome.”

“Not awesome,” the guy corrects him. “He fucking lost it. Tried to get rid of his Squip or whatever and now he’s in a mental institution.”

“Holy shit,” Michael says again, softer. “Did he eventually get it out of his head?”

“Yeah,” the guy says, “but he had to chug this super old soda. Mountain Dew Red.” 

_ Michael, I think it’s time for you to stop playing this game _ , the Squip says suddenly, and Michael isn’t sure if it’s fear piercing his chest or pain from the flowers. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, abruptly feeling as though he’s been launched into a hostage situation. Why would anyone try to get rid of a Squip? And… what exactly does it do to you if you do try to get rid of it? “I’m turning it off.” He takes his headphones off and switches off his computer. “See?” 

_ It’s time for you to finally let go of Jeremy Heere _ , the Squip says.  _ You’re going to burn everything that reminds you of him. Anything he gave you, any mementos of your time together… it’s over, Michael. Move on. Move forward.  _

“I…” Michael hesitates. For one thing, the last time he was around a fire it burned down a whole house and landed two people in the hospital. For another… why does he need to be so extreme? Burn everything Jeremy ever gave him, what? 

_ Do it _ , the Squip commands. 

“Alright,” Michael says slowly, putting his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’m just… I’m just gonna get a, uh, a letter he wrote me out of my backpack.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out one of the remaining bottles of Mountain Dew Red. He uncaps it and goes to drink from it, but suddenly he’s seized by a fit of coughing, blood and flowers spattering onto his shirt and into the wastebin. 

_ What do you think you’re doing? _ The Buddy Holly lookalike glares down at him, menacing. 

“N-nothing…”

_ You can’t lie to me, Michael _ , the Squip says.  _ You want to get rid of me? You really want to give me up? _

“No!” Michael says, but then he’s hit by another coughing fit, his chest spasming as he hacks up more and more flowers, more and more blood. He raises the Mountain Dew Red to his lips once again. 

_ If you drink that, you will die, plain and simple _ , the Squip says.  _ You couldn’t get over your pathetic crush on Jeremy and now your Hanahaki disease has progressed to a terminal condition. Right now, I’m the only thing stopping the flowers from completely blocking your airways.  _

Michael shakes his head, raising the bottle to his mouth, but he can’t stop coughing. “Jeremy…” he says. “I don’t want to burn his stuff. I don’t want to get over him. I changed my mind.” 

_ You don’t get to change your mind _ , the Squip says.  _ I’m the only one who gets to change your mind.  _

Michael clutches the bottle of soda to his chest and coughs, feeling his chest rattle. “Jeremy,” he says again, “he’s at the play… he’s got a Squip too… what if he needs me?” 

_ He has never needed you!  _ the Squip yells, towering over him. Michael shrinks down in his chair, scared. The bottle drops from his hands and slides to the floor.  _ He has never needed you and he will never need you. You might as well just asphyxiate right now if you can’t grasp that concept. Jeremy will never love you. Forget about it.  _

The room swims before Michael and he coughs and coughs, finding it harder and harder to draw breath. Finally, after agonizing minutes, he settles. His breathing calms. He feels the Squip staring at him. “What do I need to do?” he says weakly. 

_ Get a lighter _ , the Squip tells him.  _ Go sit on the porch. _

* * *

 

Outside, Michael smokes a joint to keep the flowers at bay. And he starts a fire in a bucket to comply with what the Squip wants. Beside him sits a pile of Jeremy Mementos, gifts and notes and memories. He has to get rid of them. 

Michael picks something up and looks at it. “Magic the Gathering card he gave me for the birthday no one else remembered.”

_ Burn it _ , the Squip orders. 

Michael hesitates, clinging to the card, but at another glance from the Squip he drops it into the fire, watching it turn black, watching the edges curl. “I never wanted this,” he says, hating himself for the tears that momentarily blur his vision. It’s just a stupid Magic the Gathering card. 

_ This is the only way to get what you want _ , the Squip tells him.  _ Don’t you want to be cured? Pick up the next object in the pile. _

Michael does. “Ticket stub from our first concert. Weird Al.” 

_ Super burn it.  _

Michael nods, feeling a pang deep in his gut. He and Jeremy had a blast at that concert. He just wanted to stop the pain, and now he might be losing Jeremy forever. He drops the ticket in the fire. 

And then Jeremy’s dad runs up the porch steps in a pair of thermal underwear, looking frantic. “Michael!”

Michael coughs into his elbow, hiding his joint. “Mr. Heere! What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk about Jeremy.”

Michael’s Squip glares at Jeremy’s dad.  _ Oh, no we don’t. _

“Sorry,” Michael says, his chest feeling empty and too heavy at the same time, “Jeremy and I aren’t friends anymore.” 

_ You finally admit it _ , the Squip says smugly. 

Mr. Heere stares at Michael. “Do you love him?” Well, that’s the question isn’t it?

_ You do not _ , his Squip practically yells.  _ Absolutely not. Just let go, Michael. Tell him the truth, that you don’t love Jeremy.  _

But he coughs then and he can feel the flower petal sticking to his tongue. “I… don’t know,” he says. 

“He can be a little shit sometimes, we both know that,” Mr. Heere goes on. “But that’s no excuse to sit around burning incense while he turns himself into a monster!” 

_ Forget about him _ , the Squip instructs.  _ This doesn’t matter. Go inside.  _

Michael starts to obey, but Jeremy’s dad stops him. “I need you to help me, Michael,” he pleads. “Jeremy needs you.” 

_ Jeremy needs you to leave him alone _ , the Squip insists.  _ He’s no good for you, Michael. You’ll never recover if you go to him now. You’ll die, surrounded by blood and flowers and utterly alone.  _

“Jeremy needs me,” Michael mumbles, to himself, to the Squip, to Jeremy’s dad. “Mr. Heere? I’m going to the school to help Jeremy. You… you need to go to Kohl’s. Get some pants.” He puts out the fire in the bucket and goes inside to get the Mountain Dew Red.

_ Michael, what do you think you’re doing?  _ the Squip yells at him as he runs to his basement.  _ You mean nothing to Jeremy! He should mean nothing to you.  _

“I lov--” Michael starts, but he’s cut off when the Squip shocks him. He keeps going. “I l--” Another shock. “I love--” A shock. “I love--” Shock. “I love Jeremy!” he shouts, defiant and crying and shaking with tremors. “I love him. Even if it hurts.” He grabs the Mountain Dew Red. “Even if it kills me.” 


	6. It's A Gesture

Michael makes an entrance. 

When he hears Jeremy shout his name, so grateful and so genuine, he feels the flowers clumping up in his throat again. “I was in the audience,” he lies, hands shaking. “And… look. I brought this.” He holds up the Mountain Dew Red. 

“Mountain Dew Red!” Jeremy cheers. “Give it to me. Wait-- no, Michael. First of all, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ditched you or blocked you out and I should never have given you a Squip. I’m sorry I got you roped into this mess.” 

“It’s…” Michael tries to say, but he starts coughing. 

Jeremy watches him, worried. “Here,” he says, taking the Mountain Dew Red and holding it up to Michael’s mouth. “Drink.”

“No, I can’t,” Michael says. “You drink it.”

“Michael--”

“ _ Please _ ,” Michael says, because he can’t stand another second of knowing Jeremy’s still got that computer in his head, controlling him, manipulating him. “I need you to drink it.” Jeremy’s about to, but then he suddenly spasms, arms and legs flailing. “What are you doing?” 

“It’s my Squip!” Jeremy shouts as he gets flung around by some invisible force. “I need help!” Michael grabs him and pins him down, arms wrapped tightly around him, trying to ignore the painful clotting of flower petals in his throat. 

“Jake!” Michael shouts when he sees the other boy limp forward on crutches. “If I keep holding Jeremy down, can you force him to drink this Mountain Dew Red?” 

“Totally,” Jake says, taking the bottle. 

Everything’s going to be okay. Jeremy’s going to be okay. 

But then Michael’s Squip suddenly speaks up,  _ Up up down down left right A.  _

Jake screams, and then shakes his head, refocusing on Michael and Jeremy. And then slowly, purposefully, he uncaps the bottle of Mountain Dew Red and pours it out. “No!” Michael shouts. 

“Check this out,” Jake says, and he lifts his crutches up and tosses them away. “I’m livin’ the upgrade!” Michael and Jeremy watch in shared horror as Jake walks away, mindlessly, blissfully Squipped. Just like everyone else. 

“Michael,” Jeremy says, looking up at him, still struggling a little. “There’s… still a few drops in the bottle.” 

“But how do I…?” Michael says, looking out at the sea of Squipped students. And then he realizes. “Apocalypse of the Damned!” 

“Level 9!”

“The Cafetorium!” Michael sets Jeremy down on the floor carefully, jumping up and trying to run despite the aching in his chest. Every few seconds he has to stop for a coughing fit, flower petals scattering across the stage. 

His Squip echoes cruelly in his head,  _ You’re trying to save a boy who will never love you back.  _

Michael ignores it and keeps going. He dodges and ducks, weaving between students until finally, finally, he gets a hand on the bottle. He turns to look back at Jeremy, who’s… turning away, saying something. Michael can see his mouth moving but can’t hear what he’s saying. 

But whoever he’s talking to, it’s not someone Michael can see. The Squip. “Jeremy!” he calls, making his way back through the throng of Squipped students. “Jeremy, don’t listen to--” But he’s cut off as the spasms rip through his chest and he bends over, coughing out a confetti of red carnation petals. “Jeremy!” He gets closer and he can see that Jeremy’s staring at him in shock. “Jeremy?”

“It was… me?” he says in a small voice, looking down at the flower petals scattered across the stage, at the blood speckled on Michael’s shirt. “The Squip just told me that the reason you have Hanahaki is because of how you feel about  _ me _ . I made you… like that?” 

“Jeremy, wait…”

“You love me?” 

It’s like the world is spinning around Michael and he’s frozen, standing absolutely still as everything around him crumbles. Everything is too fast and too slow and his head and chest and throat  _ hurt _ . 

_ Do you see now? _ Buddy Holly snickers in his ear.  _ He’s revolted by you. You can never be cured because he will never love you.  _

Michael collapses as he coughs, flower after flower ripping its way out of his throat. Distantly, he realizes he must be dying. He feels worse than he’s ever felt, like his lungs are burning and he blinks as black spots cloud his vision. 

_ Jeremy could never love you _ , his Squip repeats.  _ Jeremy could never love you _ .

Like he’s dreaming, Michael feels hands on his back, someone lifting him onto their lap, holding him tightly. “Help him!” someone screams, their voice distorted like he’s hearing it from underwater. “Sync with his Squip! Save him! You f-fixed Jake’s legs, now fix M-Michael!” 

The quiet is nice. The dark is nice. He won’t have to worry about Jeremy anymore. 

“Up up down down left right A!” the person holding him yells. “Work, damn it. Up up d-down down left right A! Up up down down left right left right B A start! Sync with his Squip and fix him, please. I’ll do anything, anything you want. I-I’ll stop fighting. I’ll let you Squip everyone in the school. Please just save him.” 

More quiet. More darkness. At least he’s not coughing anymore. Michael thinks about those flowers, those bright red carnations. They really were pretty, in their own way. 

“No, please,” the person above him says. Their voice is so familiar, but he’s too tired, and it’s too difficult to listen. “Please, please. I n-need him. I love him.” 

Everything is colors and sounds, with no lines, no distinct words. He sees red-- red carnations, red Mountain Dew. He hears Christine Canigula screaming. 

And then nothing. 


	7. You (Don't) Gotta Buy Him A Rose

When Michael wakes up, the first thing he realizes is that he doesn’t hurt anymore. He breathes in, deeply, and it feels like the first time in four years he’s been able to do that. So naturally he thinks he must’ve died. 

But then Jeremy speaks up. “Mikey, you awake?” 

“Hrmmm,” he says intelligently, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Jer’my?” He opens his eyes, looking around groggily. Bland ceiling tiles, harsh lights, monitors, equipment… he’s in the hospital. 

“Hey, buddy,” Jeremy says, and Michael turns to see him sitting up in his own cot, watching Michael with a concerned wrinkle in his forehead. “How do you feel?” 

Michael’s… not sure. He knows that his throat and chest don’t hurt, and he knows that he can’t hear the Squip anymore. “Fine, I guess,” he says, blinking. He can barely make out Jeremy on the cot beside him. 

“Oh, here,” Jeremy says, leaning forward to hand Michael his glasses. When their hands brush, Michael feels… well, he doesn’t want to call it electricity. 

He knows, now, exactly what  _ that _ feels like. 

“It was scary,” Jeremy says, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. “I mean, after Christine got the Mountain Dew Red everyone’s S-Squip shut off. But then with you… the doctors had to stick this thing all the way down your throat and pull out the f-flowers and it was just… awful.” Jeremy shudders. “But it’s over now. You’re okay now.”

Michael sighs, suddenly wishing he couldn’t see Jeremy’s face. He looks so… hopeful. “They’ll come back,” he says. “The flowers, they’ll just come back.” But it’s nice to get at least a reprieve, even if it’s short-lived.

Jeremy looks at him. “No, they won’t.” 

“It doesn’t work like that, Jeremy,” Michael says, just waiting for the familiar thickness at the back of his throat to climb up again. “I can’t just get rid of the flowers.”

“U-unless the person you’re in love with loves you b-back, right?” Jeremy says, scrambling for a piece of paper sitting on the table beside him. “Well… here. Just... read this.” Michael takes the paper and shoots him a questioning look. “I wrote it all down because I didn’t w-wanna mess up when I was saying it,” Jeremy explains. “Just read it.” 

_ Dear Michael, _

_ I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner about the Squip, I’m sorry for blocking you out, I’m sorry for basically being a dick. I owe you like fifty apologies and I understand if you never want to hear them, but I hope you do. I hope you can forgive me.  _

_ As for the Hanahaki disease… It shouldn’t bother you anymore, Michael. I love you.  _ _ I love you _ .  _ When I first saw you coughing up petals in the bathroom at the party, all I wanted to do was help you, because you’re my friend and I care about you. I wanted to make you feel better. _

_ But then, as the Squip told me more about the disease, I realized something. I wanted to be the reason you had it. I wanted me to be the reason you were going through so much pain, how fucked up is that??  _

_ At the play, the Squip told me that you loved me, that you had Hanahaki  _ _ because _ _ of me. First I was glad. And then you collapsed and I was so, so scared. You weren’t moving. You weren’t breathing. And I thought I was never gonna get to tell you that I love you too. _

_I love you too_. _Not just because I know it’ll make the pain and the flowers go away. I don’t love you because I feel like I should, and I don’t love you because you need me to. I love you, because I love you, because I love you. I don’t know how else to explain it._

_ Love, _

_ Jeremy _

When Michael looks up from the piece of paper, Jeremy’s crying. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice low and clotted with tears. “I understa-- I understand if you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Jeremy,” Michael says, and he means it. There were times, over the past four years, when he wanted to. Never seriously, never for long, but there were times when he was bent over a toilet bowl retching up flower petals when he wished, wished,  _ wished _ he could hate Jeremy Heere. “I love you. I love you so much I thought it was gonna kill me.”

“No,” Jeremy says, suddenly launching himself across the room to sit on the edge of Michael’s cot, his hands flitting anxiously around Michael’s arms, his shoulders, up toward his face like Jeremy wants to touch but he’s scared to. “No, n-no, no, Michael, you’re not going to die. You c-can’t, you’re better now, you’re better, you’re okay, okay? I love you. I love you. I love you. P-please don’t leave m-- please don’t leave.” 

“Okay, okay,” Michael says, feeling tired and… whole. The ache in his chest is gone, and he can breathe. He can breathe in Jeremy, and he doesn’t smell like bad cologne and Mountain Dew, he smells like soap and hospital and Jeremy. “I’ll hang around.” A little laugh bubbles up in his chest and he can’t tamp it down, it’s just so hard to believe. He’s going to live. He’s going to live and he’s going to do it with Jeremy alongside him, because… it all worked out. Somehow, miraculously, his messed up life finally got something right. 

“Can I kiss you?” Jeremy asks, looking anxious.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted… ? Yes, Jeremy.” Jeremy leans forward and their lips meet and it’s clunky, awkward, and wonderful. Michael suddenly has trouble breathing for an entirely new reason. Jeremy backs away and smiles before trying again, a little smoother, a little more polished, but still adorably, awkwardly  _ Jeremy _ . “I love you,” Michael says earnestly when they move apart.

_ Click _ . 

“Rich!” Jeremy squawks, whirling around toward the other occupant of the hospital room, who’s angling his phone camera toward them. 

“Oh, come on, I’m not gonna neglect photographing thith adorable Thnapchat moment,” Rich says, waving his phone around. “Michael, good to thee you back with the living. And for the record, you guyth make an adorable couple.” 

“Uh, thanks,” Michael says as Jeremy scoots beside him on the cot. He wraps an arm around Jeremy and it feels so  _ right _ , like they should’ve always been sitting like this. “Glad you’re doing okay, Rich.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he insists. “I am tho, thintherely thorry for everything that happened. I methed everything up and I’m really, really thorry.” 

Michael tries to stifle a laugh, and Jeremy rolls his eyes. “He’s got a lisp,” he says. “You don’t need to make fun of him for it.” 

“I’m not…”

“No, no, it’th totally cool!” Rich says with a big grin. “The Thquip wouldn’t let me talk normal like thith, and I uthed to think I thounded tho thtupid, but I really mithed it. Thith ith the real Rich Goranthki. The thtupid Thquip can thuck my ballth!”

“Oh my God,” Michael mumbles. “He’s, um, quite the character without that thing in his head.”

“Yeah, he’s been keeping me company while you were out,” Jeremy says, and he doesn’t look too happy about that. “Rich, can I have a minute alone with my… person that I… my, uh, my Michael…?” He stares helplessly at Michael, not sure what they are.

“Boyfriend?” Michael supplies.

“That’th you guyth,” Rich grins. “Boyf and Riendth. I called it.” 

“Okay,” Jeremy says, a big dorky grin gracing his face. “Okay, so we’re boyfriends I guess. I like that. That works.”

“Yeah, it sounds good to me,” Michael says, smiling up at the boy sitting next to him, so encroaching on his personal space that they might as well be one entity. “But can you promise me one thing, Jeremy? As my boyfriend?”

“Sure.”

“Never,  _ ever _ bring me flowers.” 


End file.
